Perfect Song (Mason Creek Book 2)

by Lauren Runow

  I grab his face and turn it toward me. “Tucker, I see this is really bothering you. Talk to me.”

  He sticks his lip in between his teeth and stares out to the mountains. I wait and watch as his eyes close, and he lets out a heavy breath and nods ever so slightly.

  “Something feels off. It’s like I have pins and needles in my arms and legs. It’s uncomfortable, and it kept me up all night. That’s why I got up and came out here to play. See if I could shake whatever this feeling is out of my body.”

  “How long have you been out here?”

  “I watched the sun come up.”

  “Oh, Tucker. Did you get any sleep?”

  He shrugs. “Not much. It’s okay though. Come on. Let’s get some grub. I’m starving.”

  I hop off his lap, so he can stand. I know him opening up to me like that was a big step for him, and I don’t want to push it. What we shared last night was very special, but we’re still new, so more personal things like this will take time.

  After getting ready, we head to a diner across from the hotel. As we sit down, I notice Tucker’s hand for the first time. The tops of his knuckles are scratched in scrapes and cuts.

  I reach over, covering it with mine. “I never thanked you for fighting for my honor last night,” I say.

  “You’re thanking me? I should be thanking you for forgiving me. I was an animal.”

  “You were, and I don’t condone it—unless someone’s life is in danger. And trust me when I say, mine wasn’t. I know what that’s like.”

  He inhales and shakes his head. “I shouldn’t have done that, and I’m sorry.”

  “The way you went about it and how far you took it was wrong, but if I’m being honest …” I look at him and shrug. “I like that you want to protect me. I didn’t realize how much I needed that in my life until you leaped off that stage. Turns out, every damsel needs a hero.”

  He grabs a menu and tries to forget about it all while focusing on food instead.

  The waitress comes over, holding up the coffeepot. “Can I get you two some coffee?”

  We both nod, and after she fills our mugs, she turns to set down the pot and pulls out her notepad. “What can I get you?”

  “I’ll have the blueberry pancakes,” I say.

  She nods and then turns to Tucker.

  “I’ll have the bacon and eggs—scrambled, please.”

  “Sounds good.” She smiles and leaves to help other patrons who just walked in.

  “No pancakes?” I ask Tucker.

  “Nah. After you’ve had Shorty’s pancakes, all of these other restaurants are a disappointment. I’ll stick to the bacon and eggs anywhere else.”

  I smile, remembering our last meal at Wren’s and the singing battle they had, but my smile falls short when the man in the booth across the restaurant catches my attention.

  Or rather, the bruises that cover his face catch my attention.

  I take a sharp inhale and am instantly mad at myself when Tucker notices. His eyes move to where I was just looking, and he sees it too.

  The guy from last night.

  He’s sitting with a group of guys, and one of them hits his shoulder and then points to us.

  Tucker turns back to face me, gritting his teeth. He runs his hand down his face, and I hear him mumble, “Fuck,” under his breath.

  Oh God, what if he wants to fight Tucker because of last night?

  He’s here with a group of guys. Tucker’s entire band drove home last night. I can’t help him if they want to fight.

  What if they approach us? What would Tucker do? Oh God. What if they press charges? It would be very easy for them to call the police right now and have him arrested for assault.

  When my eyes meet Tucker’s, I can tell he’s wondering some of the same things. Of course, he’s not as worried as my female brain, but I can tell he’s plotting something out.

  My breath hitches when I see the guy scoot out of his booth and head our direction. Thankfully, his crew stays seated and goes about eating their food, so I get some relief but not much as he makes his way to our table.

  Tucker tenses as he looks up at the man he beat the ever living crap out of last night.

  With his hand on his chest, the man approaches me more than Tucker. “Howdy, ma’am.”

  I dance my eyes between him and Tucker, not sure what to say. Tucker, on the other hand, stands, and the guy holds up his hands as he backs up.

  “I’m not here to start any trouble,” he says to Tucker and then looks down to me. “I do believe I owe you an apology for last night.”

  I place my hand on Tucker’s arm, silently asking him to sit down, which he does.

  “It’s okay. I appreciate the apology though,” I say as I try to calm my heart that was starting to beat out of control.

  He steps up to us again, looking directly at Tucker. “And I owe you an apology. I had no idea she was with you. I was a bit drunk last night and meant no harm. I’ve followed you for a while now, and I must say, I’m a big fan.” He chuckles under his breath as he points to his face. “I guess I deserved exactly what I got.”

  Tucker lets out a sigh. “I’m sorry for taking it that far. I just saw red and—”

  The man holds up his hands, stopping him. “No apology needed. If she were my girl, I would have done the same to any man. Just know that I’m sorry, and breakfast is on me this morning.”

  “That’s not necessary,” Tucker says.

  He places his hand to his chest again. “Please, I insist.”

  “Well, okay then. Thank you for coming over. And I hope to see you at another show, so we can both try that whole thing a different way.”

  The man smiles wide, knowing he’s been forgiven and that all is forgotten. “Deal.”

  Tucker nods as the guy grins and then walks away.

  I reach across the table, placing my hands on his. “See. Thank you for being such an amazing guy and wanting to protect me last night.”

  He leans over to kiss my lips across the table.

  For the first time since I arrived in Mason Creek, it feels like absolutely everything is going to be okay.

  Let’s hope nothing happens to destroy that feeling.

  Chapter Twenty

  Justine

  I’ve spent most of the week at Tucker’s place. Living on the houseboat is something I could totally get used to. Rising every morning to a beautiful sunrise over the hills and spending every night staring out over the calm lake as the stars shine brightly above us have been like a dream.

  When my mom called me the other day, asking if I’d ever be coming back to stay with them, I felt kind of bad, but when I’m with him, I sleep better, and right now, that’s the best thing in the world.

  I drive with him back to Mason Creek every morning and walk to Java Jitters to get my work done.

  The NYPD called a few days ago, letting me know they found the guys who had robbed me. Turns out, they were just some punks who had been caught up in cybercrimes more than anything. I was lucky enough to be their first in-person theft. It was a huge relief, knowing they weren’t from some mob crime ring, and helped put my mind at ease about the entire situation, allowing me to move on.

  I’ve had fun, catching up with people in the town, and I even got to go to the hidden hot springs, where we used to always try to sneak in on the Jacksons’ property. Now that Grady Jackson, a guy who graduated a few years above me, inherited the property, he invited me to stop by after I ran into him at the coffee shop.

  Though life has been good, every night I’ve noticed Tucker having trouble sleeping, as he moves around a lot. He also seems to be struggle as we make dinner with gripping the knife and dropping things.

  Instead of writing my column today, I’m doing a little digging to see if I can figure out what’s going on with him. I know he’s a proud man and he doesn’t like to push his burdens onto others, but I worry about him, and I don’t want to be a nag either. After spending so much time with him, I
can tell what ever is going on it’s becoming an issue.

  I’ve caught him rubbing his eyes a few times, saying he was having trouble focusing, and on this website, it says symptoms can be either pain behind the eyes or blurred vision. When I had to read something to him the other night, I teased him about his age, saying he might need to get glasses, but now, I’m not so sure if that’s the problem.

  He’s also talked about his hands not being able to grip things and muscle spasms, stiffness, and weakness. Last night, he was rubbing his foot, saying it had fallen asleep with how we were lying and watching TV, but now, I wonder if that’s really what it was.

  And lastly, when we had pancakes with Shorty last Sunday morning, he mentioned maybe he was getting sick because nothing seemed to taste right. He wasn’t getting sick and hasn’t mentioned a word about it since.

  The morning rush has slowed down, and Jessie walks over to me, taking a seat at the chair in front of me. I’ve enjoyed getting to know her. It cracks me up that even though her father owns Bumps and Dents, where Tucker works, he’s actually very against her owning this coffee shop. You’d think he’d be proud of his daughter for opening her own business, but he knows the struggles of self-employment, and he wanted something different for his daughter.

  She’s a feisty one with a mind of her own, and she has no problem with telling her dad where to shove it.

  If I were her, I would be the same way, especially because the business is doing so well. I watch the string of people come in and out of here, and for such a small town, she’s doing just fine. Plus, her coffee is on point.

  “What’s the topic you’re working on today?” she asks.

  I close my laptop, not wanting her to see what I’m Googling. Yes, I could blame anything on an article I’m writing, but I don’t want any of Tucker’s symptoms to get around this town. If someone else saw him struggling and then heard I was Googling the symptoms, rumors could spread like wildfire and I don’t want anything to get out, especially because I don’t like what I’ve read so far.

  Actually, it downright scares me.

  I take an inhale and welcome the distraction from it all.

  “Nothing at the moment. Just surfing the internet, looking for ideas as I wait for my boss to get back to me. How have you been?”

  “Livin’ the life.” She holds up her hands to her sides with a wicked grin on her face. “But I wanted to ask something.” She pauses, and I get the feeling this is going to be about Tucker. “I heard Tucker got into a fight at that concert over the weekend.”

  I try to hide the frustration of small-town gossip that seeps in my veins within an instant when she continues, “I guess I was wrong when I said that his divorce scandal was old news. Looks like some hot-tempered men will never change.”

  The door chime dings, and she smiles at the customer walking in.

  “Well, back to work. We’ll chat later. Do you want a refill?” She points to my water.

  “Yes, please. Thank you.” I hand her the cup.

  When I open my laptop back up, I take a breath, glad I didn’t have to talk about this weekend, only to see what every search I’ve done all morning has led back to.

  Maybe that conversation with Jessie will be better than the other one I think I’m going to have to have with Tucker.

  Because there it is, plain as day on my screen.

  The top three suggestions from WebMD are brain damage, which I don’t think fits; menopause, which I know doesn’t fit; and multiple sclerosis, which scares the crap out of me. And the more I dig, the more it makes sense, and the more afraid I get.

  As I research every symptom I’ve seen firsthand or that he’s mentioned, MS is the only one that makes sense.

  That’s too many things that match what’s going on with him for me to not say something. I need to get him to a doctor, but I have a feeling convincing him to do so will be hard. I know he’s the kind of guy who only goes to the doctor if he’s bleeding out or he has a broken bone.

  I can’t just let it go though. I care about him, and if he gets early treatment, he could live a normal life. I read all kinds of research and options that can help him.

  Now, I just need to see if he’ll listen …

  As the workday comes to a close, I head to Bumps and Dents and find Tucker sitting at the counter, writing down the notes on a work order.

  I’ve never even thought about the difference between a blue-collar and a white-collar worker until now. Jimmy and every other guy I dated in New York were all trying to climb the corporate ladder and wore suits and even got manicures on a regular basis.

  Tucker is everything they aren’t. Seeing his hands covered in grease and the way his jeans hug him in just the right places while being slightly ripped in other places is sexier than I ever thought it’d be. To me, it shouts someone who will do anything to protect the ones they love since they aren’t afraid to get in and get their hands dirty, no matter what situation arises.

  “There’s my girl,” he says in greeting with a smile on his face.

  “Hey there, grease monkey,” I say as he leans across the counter to give me a kiss.

  “I’m just cleaning up. I forgot to mention, I have band practice tonight. You up for coming, or should I drop you off at your parents’ for a little while?”

  I take a breath in, trying to calm the nerves racing through me as I think about discussing my research, but I really don’t want to wait any longer. I nod, knowing I don’t want to have this conversation right here, but we’ll have to chat in his truck before practice.

  “Great. Let me just lock up, and we’ll head out. You can hop in the truck if you want to put your stuff down.” He throws me his keys and then heads to the back.

  I walk toward his truck, wondering how he’s going to react to what I have to say as I slide in the seat.

  With my head resting back against the seat, I sit in silence, going over and over in my head how I’m going to tell him. I’m so focused that I don’t even notice when he hops in beside me.

  “Hey, everything okay?” He places his hand on my thigh, taking me out of my trance.

  I turn to him. “I did some research today, and I’m afraid you’re not going to like what I found.”

  He tilts his head to see me more clearly as he brings his hand up to my cheek. “What’s going on? What did you research?” he asks in the most caring voice.

  I lean my head into his hand, hoping he feels how much he means to me through this simple touch. “I’ve been worried about you all week since you told me about the problems you’ve been having with your hands.”

  His fingers fall slowly until they’re completely gone from my face. I let what I said sink in and wait to see if he’ll say anything, but he doesn’t, so I continue, “I’ve noticed other things that I think are connected.”

  He sits up straight and stares forward at the trees that line where we’re parked.

  “First, I looked up pins and needles in hands and feet and found a ton of different causes. I thought it could be carpal tunnel, but that wouldn’t explain your feet. Then, I thought about the other things you’d mentioned, and I found something that matches all of—”

  “Stop,” he says quietly, keeping his eyes glued to whatever he’s looking at.

  I reach my hand out to his and hold it. He doesn’t pull away, but he definitely doesn’t turn his to hold mine.

  “All of your symptoms line up with—”

  “I said, stop.” He turns to me, his eyebrows pinched together, like he means business. “Don’t say another word.”

  “But, Tucker, you can’t ignore it. I think you should go to the doctor and get checked out. That’s all I’m trying to say.”

  He takes a deep inhale. “I’ve taken care of myself since my divorce. I don’t need to go to the doctor, and I don’t need someone coming in and being my mother.”

  I blink, wide-eyed, shocked he would say something like that.

  “I’m not trying to be your mother.
I care about you and just want to make sure you’re okay.”

  He starts the truck, gripping and twisting the steering wheel like he’s trying to rip it open. “I’m just fine. These aren’t symptoms of some condition you found on some website. It’s just something I deal with on occasion. Not everything means I have an illness or anything.”

  He backs out of the space, and I place my hand on his arm.

  “Tucker, I’m just trying to help. I care about you, and I think you need to see a doctor.”

  I watch as his jaw clenches, and he lets out a frustrated huff. “I appreciate your concern, but don’t worry about me.” He turns toward my parents’ place instead of where they practice.

  “Are you mad at me?” I ask.

  He’s silent for a few breaths as he makes the final turn onto our street. “I’m not mad at you. I just need some space, okay? Maybe you should just stay here tonight. I’ll go to practice and call you later.”

  When he stops in front of my parents’ house, I place my hand on his leg. “I really don’t see why you’re acting like this. I’m just trying to help.”

  He gives me a smile that’s nowhere near his genuine one, which I’ve gotten since day one. “It’s fine. I should probably focus on practice.”

  I don’t bother leaning over to give him a kiss. If he’s going to act this way, then he can go off on his own.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Tucker

  I pull up to practice, more frustrated than I’ve ever been. I don’t need someone thinking they’re a doctor and that something is wrong with me just because they read some medical websites. The internet is full of wrong information, and I’m not up for being someone’s guinea pig while they test out their theories on me.

  “Hey, Tucker,” John says as he walks by my window, which is still down.

  I roll it up and cut the engine, grabbing my guitar from the back.

  Not in the mood for any chitchat, I stay silent as I enter the room and head straight to where I always set my guitar.